


Stockholm Syndrome

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Flirting, Charming!Derek, Forced Relationship, Future Fic, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentally Unstable!Derek, Mentally Unstable!Stiles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Rape/Non-con References, Suicide, hipster!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:10:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-noun<br/>1. An emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence and a need to cooperate for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stockholm Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> The fic that took over the universe!!!!
> 
> This took so long. 
> 
> Okay, some parts may triggering for some, so be aware of that. This is dark af, ya'll;tread softly. Unbeta'd, so point out errors if you feel so inclined. I adore feedback!
> 
> Derek and Stiles are both 19 in this. Derek lives in Beacon Hills, but none of the other characters do. Oh! And Stiles looks/dresses like Stewart from The Internship because why not.
> 
> Enjoy!!

Stiles sighed as he closed the large Encyclopedia he was reading. He pushed the pads of his fingers into his eyelids. He was never going to finish his paper if he kept this up. He looked around the quiet, nearly deserted library. The only other people in the small room were the librarian, a blonde headed girl checking out cookbooks and a scruffy looking man who was thumbing through a novel Stiles couldn't see the title of.   
He stared blankly at his notes. He had only scratched a couple things down. He sighed again, more exaggerated this time. He let his back droop, snaking his hand back to rub out a kink in his neck.  
"Long night?"   
Stiles jumped when he heard the unfamiliar voice. He looked up to see the scruffy man standing at the table, book in hand. The guy laughed. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."  
"Uh," Stiles stuttered as he swept his eyes over the man's face and body, appreciating what he saw, "It's fine. My nerves are just kind of frayed."  
The guy smiled, causing the skin next to his bright blue eyes to crinkle. The shift in his facial expression took Stiles breath away; the guy was that handsome. "Maybe you need a pick-me-up?" the man suggested. Stiles was sure he must have looked confused because the guy chuckled again. "There's a coffee shop about a block away, and..." he glanced over his shoulder, leaning down to brace his hands on the table. When he turned back to Stiles, his face was only a few inches away. "I've been watching you, and if I don't get to know everything about you right now, I'm going to go out of my mind." His eyes darted down to Stiles' gaping mouth and back up to his eyes, his own eyes dancing as he grinned wider. "What d'you say?"  
Stiles clamped his mouth shut and gulped. His throat suddenly felt like the Sahara desert. He nodded as his thoughts began to process again. "Yes," he finally croacked out, "That is a big, stinking pile of yes."  
The man ducked his head to hide his bashful smile, redness sweeping across his cheeks and down his neck. He looked up at Stiles' face through his lashes. "Excellent," he breathed out. 

 

They had just sat down with their coffee when a thought occurred to Stiles. "I'm Stiles, by the way," he said to the man across from him. He wrapped his hands around his cup as he gave the guy a lopsided smile.   
The man grinned. "Derek." He laughed. "I guess I was so caught up in building up the nerve to talk to you that I forgot the most important bit of information."  
Stiles scoffed. "Really, you nervous to talk to me? Yeah, right."  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Derek asked, his eyes sparkling as he took a drink.   
"Are you serious?" Stiles questioned incredulously, "Do you own a mirror?"  
Derek's smile widened and Stiles decided he enjoyed the sight. "So you think I'm attractive?"  
"Mm," Stiles agreed as he gulped. "Yes," he said after he swallowed, "And so does everyone who sees you."  
Derek laughed heartily. "You're a flatterer."  
"Or I'm just painfully honest."  
Derek laughed again, softer this time, and nodded. "So what about you?" he asked after a moment, "You don't think your worthy of my nervousness?" Derek's smile made his eyes light up as he took another sip.   
Stiles shrugged. "Don't get hit on much," he admitted, "Not by people who look like you, at least."   
Derek rolled his eyes at that, but the smile didn't leave his face. "Okay," he said, "So we're attracted to one another."  
"Established, I think."  
"You think?"  
"Well, you never said you were attracted to me." Stiles arched his eyebrows playfully.   
Derek laughed again. "Asking you here wasn't enough?" He quirked his own eyebrows so his expression matched Stiles'. Stiles shook his head and grinned. Derek dipped his head, looking back up after a minute, deep into Stiles' eyes. "I'm attracted to you," he said pointedly.   
Stiles nodded. "Okay, established."  
Derek looked thoughtfully serious for moment, still staring at Stiles' face. "You have nice eyes," he mumbled.   
Stiles smile split his face. "So do you."  
Derek's cheeks flushed pink as he broke into another grin. "Alright," he said, "Now that that's out of the way, tell me about you."  
"What do you want to know?"  
Derek toyed with his cup briefly before bringing it up to his lips and drinking. All the while, he was squinting at Stiles, like he was trying to figure out what made him tick. He smiled when he'd swallowed. "Everything." 

 

The men talked in the coffee house all night.   
Derek learned that Stiles was an only child, that he was a freshman studying criminal justice and journalism. Stiles told Derek about his Sheriff father, his dead mother, his fiercely loyal, asshole best friend, and roommate, Scott. He rambled off random facts about himself- his favorite color (orange) and favorite snack (chocolate-covered potato chips)- and random facts he had acquired over his years of pointless research- the average American will spend nine years watching television and running in the rain gets you fifty percent wetter than just standing still. Derek nodded, asking questions and laughing at the appropriate times.   
In turn, Stiles inquired endlessly about Derek. Derek told Stiles all about his obscenely large family: two brothers, a sister, an aunt and uncle, cousins- "tons of cousins," Derek had said- and Derek's parents, all under one roof. He talked about his major, English, and what he intended to with it, teach. He told Stiles he hadn't talked this much to anyone; he was usually shy and reserverd.  
"There's just something special about you," he said at one point, looking into Stiles' eyes in a way that made Stiles want to kiss him stupid.   
"Oh my God," Stiles said when he finally checked his phone.  
"Something wrong?" Derek asked as he came back to the table with what must have been their twelfth round of coffee.   
"It's seven AM," he said, tilting his phone towards Derek so he could see.   
"Oh," Derek said softly, his face falling, "Do you have to go?"  
Stiles hesitated. He did have an eight o'clock class, and he needed a shower beforehand. "Unfortunately," he said, not trying to hide his disappointment. "But, hey," he perked up, "Do you want my number?"  
"You want to give me your number?" Derek asked, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.   
"Of course!" Stiles exclaimed. He grinned. "I had a great time. Sorry I have to go."  
Derek's smile was back in place, his eyes crinkling. "It's okay. Here," he pushed his phone across the table to Stiles and drank his coffee as Stiles punched his number in.   
He slid the phone back across the table along with his own. He gathered his bag, bringing up and over his head and settling it on his shoulder. Derek handed him his phone back. "Thanks," he smiled down at the man, "Do you have anywhere you need to be?"  
Derek shook his head. "No, my first class isn't until ten."  
"Lucky you," Stiles said, "Thanks for everything."  
Derek grinned. "No," he said, "Thank you, Stiles."  
Stiles matched his expression. "Well, I'll text you." Derek nodded. Stiles waved as he pushed on the door. 

 

Stiles couldn't even get through one class without whipping his phone out.   
Stiles: hey it's stiles just wanted u 2 no i really liked our talk :)  
Derek: me too. hope it happens again soon.  
Stiles smiled to himself as he hit the lock button. He had no idea what it was about Derek that intrigued him- well, other than the dazzling eyes, perfect smile, sexy stubble and ripped muscles. Maybe he was trying to figure out what Derek felt was so interesting about him. He shook his head, a smile on his face, and tried to pay attention, but to no avail.   
After class, back in his dorm, he stretched out on his bed with his headphones in.   
Stiles: would it b weird to tell u i can't stop thinking about u?  
He read the message over and over before he thought "fuck it" and hit send. He heard the latch click in his door and then Scott was swinging it open. "Hey, man," he said, pulling his headphones out.   
"Stiles!" Scott jumped when his eyes landed on his best friend, "Where the hell were you last night?"  
Stiles sat up, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"  
Scott sat at his desk, facing Stiles, his face hard. "Don't give me that shit. I know you didn't come in at all last night."  
Stiles sighed and pulled his beanie off so he could ruffle his hair with his skinny fingers. "I met a guy."  
"So you just stayed out with him? No call or anything?"   
Stiles rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, dude, okay? He was amazing, Scott, really amazing. I like him a lot."  
Scott looked at him a moment longer before he sighed, anger diminishing. "Yeah, okay." He turned in his seat and dug through his bag. "So did you fuck?" he asked as he sat back up, laptop in hand.   
"What?" Stiles squacked, "No, of course not. We just talked."  
Scott shot him a look of disbelief. "All night?" he probed.   
Stiles whacked him with the hat he was still holding. "Yes, all night," he said, "Some of us aren't easy." He leveled a look of his own at his best friend.   
Scott let out a "pfft" noise. "You would be easy if anyone wanted to fuck you."  
Stiles dropped his mouth open. "I am officially done talking to you," he pouted, crossing his arms across his chest and laying down to roll over and face the wall.   
"Alright, alright," Scott said after a minute. Stiles could hear him tapping something out on his keyboard. "Hey," he said when Stiles didn't acknowledge him at all, "I'm sorry. Come on, tell me all about him."  
"Don't ask if you don't want to know," Stiles said, back still turned.   
"I do want to know, dude," Scott insisted.  
Stiles sat up and grabbed for his phone as it started buzzing behind him. He smiled down at the screen.  
Derek: absolutely not. i'm thinking of you too. couldn't concentrate in my last class. all your fault. ;)  
"That's him, isn't it?"   
Stiles looked up at Scott's question. "Yeah," he said, not bothering to hide his happiness, not at all embarrassed by his blush.   
Scott rolled his eyes when Stiles looked back at his phone. "Just don't be sexting with me in here, man."  
"Better leave then," Stiles joked.  
Scott groaned, not picking up on the sarcasm. "I have work to do," he said, typing more furiously as if to prove his point.  
Stiles checked the time. "I have to go anyway."   
"Meeting your lover?" Scott teased dryly.   
Stiles pulled his beanie back on and slapped Scott on the back of the head with a loud thwack. "Bye, dickbag," he called over his shoulder as he left.   
"See ya, asswipe," he heard Scott call to him and he couldn't help but grin. 

 

When he got to his next class, the door was locked. So he pulled his phone out to tap out a message to his new penpal.  
Stiles: u realize winky faces goes straight to my dick, right? haha  
He hoped he wasn't being too forward with his jokes, but he had a feeling Derek would get a kick out of it. His professor was halfway through the lecture before his phone vibrated again.   
Derek: ;) ;) ;) ;)  
Stiles had to cover his mouth to keep from busting out laughing. He slid the phone back into his pocket, smile still prominent on his face. 

 

He was walking down the sidewalk to the dining hall when it occurred to him that he had yet to text Derek back.   
Stiles: nice. almost popped a boner in my psych class. thanks so much.   
Derek: anytime. ;) hey. what are you doing?  
Stiles: going to dinner. u?  
Derek: care for some company? i'm headed there now.  
Stiles: always up for ur company, dude. see ya there.   
Stiles felt his heart speed up at the prospect of seeing the handsome man again. He blew out a breath as he pulled open the door to the cafeteria. Derek was standing there, cell in hand, smiling faintly at it.   
"Hey, you," Stiles said as he approached him.  
Derek looked up, his smile slipping wider. "Hi." Stiles returned the smile and they moved into the line. 

 

They were sitting down before Stiles blurted out the first thing he could think of: "So is this like our second date?"  
Derek looked amused as he lifted his fork off his tray. "If that's how you'd like to look at it," he said simply, a smile playing on his mouth. He looked at Stiles hopefully.   
"I do," Stiles said before realizing what those words were typically used for. "I mean, yes," he sputtered out, "I am. That's how I'm thinking of it, officially."  
Derek blushed. "Okay then."  
Stiles picked up his sub sandwich and took a big bite to keep himself from talking. "You're kind of adorable when you blush," he said, mouth still full, and immediately wanted to kick himself in the ass.  
"You're kind of adorable when you're regretting your words," Derek quipped, eyes twinkling.   
Stiles almost choked, but then swallowed with an audible gulp. "You caught that, huh?"   
Derek shrugged. "Only a little," he assured, but his playful smile suggested he was being less than truthful.   
"I word vomit sometimes," Stiles admitted.  
"I've noticed," Derek replied, "S'okay. I meant what I said: it's adorable."  
"So you don't mind?" Stiles asked doubtfully before taking another chunk out of his sub.   
Derek shook his head as he chewed. "Not at all," he said after he swallowed, "Why? Does someone else mind?"  
Stiles shrugged. "Everyone," he said, causing food to fall sloppily from his mouth. "Shit," he muttered, more food falling.   
Derek laughed, loud and open, and handed him a napkin. "That's cute too," he said, grinning.  
"Okay," Stiles said, "Now I know you're shitting me."  
"I would never," he said, looking sincere as he took a bite of his pasta.   
"Food coated in saliva cascading from my mouth as I spew nonsense is cute?"  
Derek pulled a face. "Well, when you put it that way..." He shuddered fakely, then smiled. "I'm joking," he said when Stiles froze, "Yeah, it's cute. It's apart of who you are, and you're cute, so it's cute."  
"Excessive use of the word cute, Mr. English Major. Shouldn't you know some synonyms for that?"  
Derek rolled his eyes, grinning. "Charming, alluring, dazzling, ravishing, enticing," he listed.   
Stiles shrugged. "Eight out of ten, not terribly impressed."  
Derek peeked his eyebrows. "Ambrosial. Exquisite. Resplendent." He paused and added, "pulchritudenous."  
"Point taken." 

 

Stiles paused awkwardly at the front door of his dorm building when Derek walked him there. In the light from the setting sun, Derek's eyes practically glowed, spit gleamed off his lips and Stiles was aching with how badly he wanted to kiss the taller man.   
"I, uh," he wasn't sure if he should say it or just move in and take what he wanted.   
Derek took a deliberate step back. "Stiles," he started with a sigh. And Stiles was sure Derek would be telling him off. Like, thanks but no thanks. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya. Thanks for the memories, even though they weren't so great.   
So his brain was cliche, sue him.   
But Derek was taking his hand. Taking his hand, talking in a rushed voice. "I really like you. I know we only just met, but that's how I feel. And I don't want to mess anything up by moving too fast." He wasn't looking at Stiles' face, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. Stiles was resisting the strong urge to whoop, loudly and ecstatically. "I'm not good at this sort of thing, I guess," Derek was saying, finally looking up, hesitantly, like Stiles was going to reject him or something ridiculous like that.   
Stiles squeezed at Derek's hand. "Yeah," he said, nodding, "That's fine. I really like you too." He smiled genuinely.  
Derek breathed out through his nose as he grinned. "Yeah? Okay, good." He looked relieved.  
"What? You thought I didn't?"  
"I've been wrong before," he said, his smile faltering momentarily as he let his eyes slip down, but then they were back on Stiles and his smile was as bright as ever.   
"Well, you're not wrong this time," Stiles reassured him. "So," he started after a pause, "does this mean I can't kiss you?"  
Derek looked slightly taken aback. "Were you going to?"  
"Hm," Stiles looked up like he was thinking it over, "I was contemplating it." He took a step forward.  
"I- I don't know if it's a good idea..." Derek said, flustered.   
Stiles backed up, hands up in surrender. "Okay, dude, whatever you want."  
"I just..." Derek tried. "I want to. I just don't think I'd be able to stop," he murmured, head down as if he were talking to his shoes.   
"Worried about comprising my virtue?" Stiles joked.  
Derek brought his head up fast. "You have virtue?" he asked. Then he chuckled. "I mean," he said, "You... You're not a virgin, are you?"  
Stiles stepped closer again. "Why?" he teased, "Would that sway you?"  
Derek looked torn. He clearly wanted to know the answer, but he didn't seem to know what he'd do with the information. "No," he said eventually, "No, I don't think so. I mean, I like you either way."  
"But one way would make you less able to control yourself?"  
"Something like that."  
Stiles got even closer, so when he flicked his eyes upwards, he was looking directly into Derek's. "Which way?" he whispered.  
Derek swallowed and shook his head. He smirked. "Not telling."  
"I could guess," Stiles offered. Derek made a choked noise in his throat. "Say no and I'll stop," Stiles said as he moved up. He brushed his lips against Derek's, shivering at the sensation it sent down his spine. He pushed more firmly, surprised at how soft and warm Derek's lips were against his own. He poked his tongue out to sweep it across Derek's bottom lip.   
Derek whined shortly, then opened his mouth to allow Stiles access. Stiles took the opportunity gladly, licking into Derek's mouth. Their tongues slid against each other, making Stiles moan louder than he intended. At that, Derek grabbed his hips and pushed him away gently.   
Derek cleared his throat as he searched Stiles' eyes. "That was..." he tried and failed to find the proper word.   
"Yeah," Stiles panted, noticing how out of breath he was. He waited a minute before he said, "I should probably go in."  
Derek released his grip suddenly. "Yeah," he said, "yeah, of course."   
Stiles smiled softly at him before opening the door and disappearing into the lounge. Once he was in his room, he leaned against his door. "Wow," he whispered to himself.   
Outside, Derek was still standing by the door Stiles had went through. He had his hand splayed out on the wall next to the door. "Wow," he said under his breath and nodded before he smacked the hot brick once and turned to jog to his own dormroom.

 

Derek: can still taste you.  
Derek: sorry. too creepy?  
Stiles grinned down at two messages that came in succession. He typed a reply.   
Stiles: no. i was just thinking that. was gonna brush my teeth, but i like it. :)  
Derek: same. i have a question.  
Stiles: i'm all ears.  
Derek: are you doing anything tonight?  
Stiles: nope.  
Derek: thought i might take you on a proper date, set up negotiations for your virtue. if you're up for it.  
Stiles laughed and hastily answered.  
Stiles: my virtue doesn't come cheap, buddy. definitely up for it.   
Derek: duly noted. pick you up in an hour?  
Stiles: sounds good. see you soon.   
Derek: can't wait. ;)

 

An hour and a half later, Stiles was sitting across a candle lit table from the best looking guy on campus, maybe even on the planet. Derek had cleaned up nice, in a button up pale blue shirt and dark denim jeans.   
"You look good," Stiles complimented after the waiter left with their desert order. Derek blushed and ducked his head. "The exact reaction I was hoping for," Stiles said smugly.  
Derek looked up, eyes grazing up and down the parts of Stiles he could see. "I was just about to say the same thing to you, actually." Derek studied him a moment. "I like your glasses."  
Stiles reached up and touched them tentatively. He smiled. "So you like nerds?" he teased.  
"Do you consider yourself a nerd?" Derek teased right back, picking up his water glass to take a drink. The candles reflected off his eyes, really making them pop and Stiles wondered what it would take to get close enough to count the flecks of gold in them.  
"I like that about you," Stiles said after a beat.   
"What's that?"  
"You don't put up with bullshit. You give it right back. It's..." he smiled mischievously, "cute."  
Derek rolled his eyes, something like fondness sparkling in them.

 

"Wanna take this to the coffee shop?" Derek suggested when they'd finished up.   
Stiles smiled wide, "absolutely."  
Once they were there, he realized he'd drank way too much water at dinner. He excused himself to go to the bathroom, letting Derek order for him.   
When he'd emerged, Derek was already sitting down and Stiles' cup was waiting on him. He was sitting in the same booth as the night before.   
"Keeping traditions alive, huh?" Stiles said playfully as he slid into the seat opposite Derek.  
Derek shrugged, grinning. "Why change a good thing?"  
"Hard to believe we only met yesterday," Stiles thought aloud.   
"I know," Derek adopted a serious look as he reached across to lace his fingers with Stiles'. "Feels like I've known you a long time," he mumbled, "You're so easy to talk to."  
"You too," Stiles said, gripping Derek's hand firmly.   
After a bit, Stiles decided to call it a night. "As amazing as this has been, and as badly as I want it to continue, I really should get back to my room. I'm sort of exhausted."  
"Oh, right. Of course. Sorry," Derek said all in one breath and stood, pulling Stiles out of the booth by his hand.   
Stiles smiled up at him before he felt the world go off tilt. "I'm not-" he tried, but he was distracted by the way he seemed to be edging closer to the floor.   
"Stiles?" Derek put a concerned hand on his back, "You okay?"  
Stiles tried to shake his head, making him see two Dereks. "Na," he slurred, "Mm real dizzy all f'a sudden."   
Derek steadied him with an arm around his waist. "Let's get you home," he said, worry painted all over his face. He got Stiles buckled into the car, brushing a kiss on his forehead. He went around and climbed into the driver's seat. "Is it better when you're sitting?"  
Stiles nodded, moaning when the movement made him nauseous. "M'jus gonna take a lil nap," he mumbled.   
The last thing he was dimly aware of was Derek's hand on his thigh, "Stiles, Stiles."

 

Stiles woke up, wondering what time it was. He yawned and sat up. Well, he tried to. Something was preventing his movement. He looked up towards where his wrists were taped together and tied to the headboard. He paused when he realized how cold he was. Looking down, he saw he was completely naked. He brought his head up, straining his eyes to look around the dark room. He shivered as a draft flowed past him. What the hell was going on?  
The realization of what was happening hit him full force, and he had to focus on breathing in through his nose, out his mouth. He did this for several minutes, letting it consume his mind. In, out, in, out. He fought down the panic attack that was already creeping up his throat.   
"Okay," he whispered to himself, his voice echoing harshly in the quiet room, "Keep it together, Stilinski. That's the most important thing: keeping your head. This is a panic attack-free zone; it's absolutely not allowed." But even as he said it, the skin on his neck and chest was flushing deep red, his eyes were darting around the darkness, and his breath was coming in rapid, cut-off gasps. "Gotta...calm...down," he panted. He screwed his eyes shut, forced out a breath. But it was too late; the attack was already full-blown and-  
The sound of a door creaking open made his eyes fly open on their own accord. Light flooded the room briefly before the door thudded shut. A figure approached him in the darkness and he closed his eyes again because he didn't want to see, didn't want to watch when he was sure this was the end.  
He was still in the mist of his panic attack, but he managed to gasp out a "please." He braced himself for the blows or the incisions or whatever this sick freak was into- his dad was a Sheriff, Stiles had pretty much seen it all.   
Instead, a hand was gently brushing hair from his face. He wanted to pull away from the touch, but it was a welcome comfort and he could already feel the anxiety seeping out of him. Another hand found its way to Stiles' chest, as if the person- man, Stiles was almost positive- were trying to feel his heartbeat. It became clear that's exactly what they were doing when the hand moved from his chest to press a finger at the pulse point in his neck.   
"Breathe," was whispered gruffly, right in Stiles' ear. And he did, panic all but abated. He relaxed his limbs as the hazy bliss of the aftermath that always followed his attacks sat in. The hands disappeared and he almost whined at the loss before remembering where he was and who the hands belonged to. He cracked his eyes open, now wanting a look at his kidnapper.   
The man, Stiles could see his broad shoulders and short hair in the dim light coming from a lamp the man must have turned on, had his back turned. Soft noises were coming from where he stood, and it sounded like he was rummaging through something. "So you have panic attakcs," the guy said and Stiles immediately recognized the sound.  
He jerked up, arms pulling at his restraints. "Derek?"  
Derek turned around, smile ghosting his lips. "You should have told me you got panic attacks."  
Stiles was somewhat comforted by the smile, by the soft tone of Derek's voice. Maybe Derek was here to rescue him from whoever had done this. Stiles layed his head back as Derek moved closer. "Never came up," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "kinda like this." He motioned to his arms, pulled them a little. He chuckled. "Could be into it, if only you'd warned me."  
Derek's grin widened, and Stiles waited for him to deny that this was his doing. After a minute or two passed, Stiles felt his own smile slipping. Derek moved so he was standing at Stiles' feet. "Derek?" Stiles said, a little too loudly.  
Derek put firm hands on the tops of his feet and pushed them up so he was bent at the knee. There was a clicking noise as Derek opened something Stiles couldn't see. He looked concentrated for a second, and then looked to Stiles with a smile. "Relax," he instructed.  
"Why?" Stiles asked, trying and failing to keep his voice even, "What are you-" He was cut off by the feeling of something blunt circling his asshole. "What are you doing??" he yelled, sitting up and attempting to squirm away from Derek's finger.   
Derek pushed a hand down on his hip. "If you don't relax, it won't feel good." He pushed a little, and Stiles could feel how slick his finger was as it entered him.  
"No!" Stiles yelped, "Don't! I don't... It doesn't... I don't like it!" He kicked his foot out.  
Derek grabbed it, forced him to bend his knee and put his foot flat on the bed. "Stay still," Derek gritted out, tossing a dirty look to Stiles.   
"Derek," Stiles whimpered, thinking he might be able to appeal to the part of Derek he'd gotten to know the past couple days, "Please. Please don't do this." Derek just looked at him, not pushing his finger in but not pulling it out either. Anger was bubbling in Stiles' chest. "You drugged me, didn't you? At the coffee shop? You put something in my drink," he demanded. Derek looked away, shame evident on his face. "Is that what you want? For me to beg and cry? For me to fight you? Is that gonna get you off?" Stiles spat, knowing he was probably making things worse for himself, "Well, go ahead. Rape me, kill me. Whatever the fuck you want. But I'm not doing you any favors."  
Derek's eyes snapped up when he heard the word 'rape.' He shook his head, brows furrowing together. "I'm going to make love to you. I want you to feel good." He lowered his eyes and whispered, "I want you to love me."  
Stiles felt his anger dissipate. He had watched his dad negotiate enough hostage situations; he knew what he had to say. He swallowed his pride. "I can," he murmured and Derek looked up, hope all over his face. "I could love you, but it takes time. And you can't ra-" he stopped himself, cleared his throat, "You can't make love to me yet. I'm not ready."  
"When will you be ready?"  
Stiles gnawed his lip. "I don't know, some time." Derek's face fell, and his eyes landed on where his finger was still inside Stiles. He looked like he was mulling it over. "But in the meantime," Stiles added quickly, "We could just be together."  
"You'll stay?" Derek whispered, eyes locked on Stiles', searching them like this was more than he dared wish for.   
Stiles felt bile rushing to his mouth as he looked at the innocence on Derek's face. He swallowed. He forced a smile that he prayed looked sincere. "You haven't given me much choice," he said lightly, as if it was a joke. He shook his hands where they dangled above his head.  
The corners of Derek's mouth twitched as he studied Stiles' face. His eyes slid up to the restraints and then over Stiles' body. "You have moles," he murmured affectionately.   
"Derek," Stiles said, reverting his attention to the rope keeping Stiles in place. Derek looked back up. "Could you maybe untie me?"  
Confusion washed over Derek's face, and Stiles could tell he was debating it. Something dark squirmed its way into his eyes. He reached towards the lamp, shutting it off with a sharp click. "No," he grunted. He made his way to the door.  
"Derek, Derek!" Stiles called urgently.   
Derek unlocked to door and opened it, his body blocking out most of the light that poured in, blinding Stiles. "Scream as much as you want," Derek said as he turned to grasp the handle, "No one can hear you now." The door slammed, leaving Stiles in complete darkness, his yells the only noise in the room. 

 

Stiles was being shook violently. "No," he grumbled, "five minutes, Dad."  
"Wake up," Derek barked.   
Stiles' eyes snapped open, memories of where he was flooding his mind. He tried not to cry out in surprise. Derek's face was only an inch from his own.   
"You need to eat," Derek said sternly and left the room.  
Stiles heard his stomach rumble. "Yeah," he said under his breath, "Okay." Light was streaming in through a window in the corner. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. He was tied to an armchair now instead of the bed, and a quick check of himself showed that he was now wearing sweatpants, but was otherwise unchanged. He was pretty sure he'd been moved to a different room while he'd been asleep. The walls were a light shade of blue. There were paintings of oceans and sunsets hanging up, and a king-sized bed in the center of the room. The white comforter looked so soft and fluffly that Stiles found himself longing to sink down into it.   
Derek came in then, his torso bare, carrying a tray piled high with pancakes. He looked at Stiles nervously. "I didn't know what you'd like..."  
Stiles jumped at the opportunity to play on Derek's emotions. "No, yeah. I love pancakes."  
The smile that broke across Derek's face let Stiles know he'd said the right thing. Derek set the tray on the short dresser next to Stiles' chair. He glanced from Stiles' hands to the food and back again, uncertainty shining in his eyes. "If I untie you," he said slowly, "do you promise not to run?"  
Stiles gulped. "Why would I run from pancakes?" he lied easily, smile creeping onto his face. Derek looked unconvinced. "Or you," Stiles added.   
Derek returned the smile then, reached down and ripped the tape from Stiles' wrists.   
"Ouch!" Stiles yelped in pain. Derek grabbed Stiles' hands, brought them up to his mouth and kissed Stiles' wrist bones. Stiles watched in a state of confused awe. He was realizing that Derek was just lonely and probably really broken. He'd obviously suffered some sort of trauma if he thought kidnapping was a way of starting a relationship. Maybe if he played along, Derek would come to his senses. "Thank you," he breathed out.   
Derek dropped his hands and smiled the smile that crinkled his eyes, the one he smiled when he was really pleased. "You're welcome," he turned to pick up a plate and fork, "Are you hungry?"  
Stiles rubbed at his wrist. "Starving," he said truthfully.  
Derek handed him the plate, looking anxious again. "I hope they're okay. I haven't cooked for anyone in awhile." He leaned on the closet door and watched Stiles through his lashes.   
Stiles cut into his breakfast with the side of his fork, stabbed the bite and stuffed into his mouth. He nodded enthusiastically as he chewed. "They're great," he said through his mouthful, and it wasn't even a lie. But he guessed anything would taste good if someone hadn't eaten in... "How long have I been here?" he asked before he had a chance to think it through. He froze, gaging Derek's reaction.  
If the man was bothered, he didn't show it. "Three days," he said. "I'm sorry you haven't eaten before now. But you were being..." he paused, sucked on the side of his cheek, "uncooperative. I had to knock you out a lot."  
"I don't remember anything," Stiles said and took another bite.   
"You wouldn't. You were barely conscious," Derek said and the guilty expression made something in Stiles tense.  
"Did you..." he groped for words, "I mean, how's my virtue?" His tone was light, but his stomach was forming knots at the thought of Derek sedating and then fucking him.   
Derek chuckled. "Still intact."   
"Good," he said with a nod, slicing off another hunk of pancake, "Wanna make sure I'm fully aware of what's going on when it happens." Derek blushed, and Stiles marveled at the way his own heart sped at the sight. Maybe he could really doing this: fall in love with Derek, if only he would-  
No, Stiles cut the thought off with an actual shake of his head. Stiles was flirting for one reason: survival. He would never make it out of the situation alive- or still a virgin- if he let his wits slip for even a moment. That included any and all feelings of affection for the man in front of him. He was not the guy Stiles had thought he was, obviously. There would be no hope for a relationship; it didn't, couldn't, work that way. He grunted aloud as he strengthened his resolve.   
"You okay?" Derek's voice bursted through his thoughts.  
He looked up and grinned with his mouth closed around the bite he was swallowing. "Yeah, dude," he said, feigning happiness, "This is just really good."  
Derek grinned ear to ear. "I'm glad you like them."  
Stiles put down his now empty plate. "So, what are we doing today?"  
Derek's face reflected his bewilderment. "Uh.."  
"I mean," Stiles smiled up at him, "I can't fall in love with you if you aren't around."  
Derek's cheeks flushed. "I've been around, you just haven't been awake for it." He bit his lip, guilt written in his expression.  
"I'm sorry I was so contrite," Stiles said softly.  
Derek shrugged. "It's to be expected." He moved closer, as if he was going to touch Stiles, but at the last moment he veered off to collect the sticky plate Stiles had set aside.  
Stiles glanced towards where the door was wide open as Derek moved further away to put the plate and fork on the tray. Stiles made a rash decision, jumping up and racing for the door. He heard a crash behind him and a grunt, letting him know Derek was hot on his heels.  
He realized a moment too late that he should have thought this through;waited until he had more of a head start. He ran the length of the corridor, stopping when he came to a staircase. He jumped to fling himself down them- because falling had to be faster than running, right?- and was grabbed mid-air by two large, firm hands. He crashed to the ground with a yelp, bones crunching as he hit the carpet, and heard the puff of air as it was knocked from his lungs.  
He was kicking, screaming, thrashing- anything to escape the crushing weight on top of him- with his eyes shut tight. There was a sudden, white-hot pain in his neck.   
And then everything went black. 

 

Stiles, I swear to God, if you don't call me back, I'm calling your father," Scott hissed into his cellphone, "And if I find out you're with that.. guy, so help me!" Scott angrily pushed the end call button and threw his phone down on his bed. It'd been a week since Stiles had been at school. An awkward call to the Sheriff had let Scott know that Stiles hadn't gone home either.   
Scott picked up the note he had found on Stiles' bed as he sank down onto his own: "Hey, Scott. Going out tonight. On a date!!! Don't wait up, bro. -Stiles"   
It was written in Stiles' usual scrawl, like he was always in a hurry. Scott dropped the note, ignoring it as it drifted slowly to the floor, and sighed, cupping his head in his left hand. With his right, he scooped his phone back up and pushed the five on his speed dial.  
"Mr. Stilinski? I think Stiles may be in trouble."

 

It took a week for the Sheriff to set up everything in his department. To his deputies, it meant a lot of work. To John, it meant Stiles had been missing for two weeks.   
They called in anyone Scott could think might have had contact with Stiles the last day he was seen: professors, classmates, staff at the university. Everyone reported that same thing: Stiles had been alive and well all day long. Scott found it comforting, while John found it infuriating. Nothing they had heard had been helpful at all.   
Until, two days into the interviews, sixteen days since Stiles' disappearance, a cafeteria worker gave them a break.   
"So you remember him going through the line?" the Sheriff asked.  
"Yes," the lady answered, "I made his sandwich. He ate with his boyfriend, and then they left."  
John brought his head up so fast, it's a wonder it didn't snap off. "Boyfriend?"  
She nodded. "Yeah, Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome."  
"Do you know a name?" She shrugged. "Of course not," John sighed, "That'd be too easy." He addressed the woman again, "could you describe him to a sketch artist?"  
"Oh, definitely," she said dreamily,"Hard to forget a man like that."  
John turned towards the door, skimming his notes. "Thank you for your time, miss."   
Walking through the precinct, he found Scott sitting in his office. "Hey," he said to his son's best friend, who he viewed almost as a son himself, "tell me about Stiles' boyfriend." He dropped his clipboard onto his desk with a clatter and fixed Scott with what Stiles called his "bad cop stare."  
"Stiles doesn't have a boyfriend," Scott said confusedly.   
"Well, he ate dinner with a guy the day he disappeared."  
"Oh!" Scott burst out suddenly. "It was the guy!" He looked triumphant.  
"The guy?" John asked slowly.  
"Yeah, yeah," Scott said enthusiastically, "The guy. The one he... he told me about. Oh, God, what was his name?" He snapped his fingers, as if the movement would help him remember. "He never told me his name."  
"Did you meet him?"  
Scott shook his head sadly. "No, we barely even talked about him." He dropped his head on the Sheriff's desk with a thud.  
John rubbed a hand over Scott's shoulders. "It's alright," he mumbled almost like he was trying to convince himself, "We'll find him. He's a smart kid. We'll find him."  
Scott shot his head up when he remembered something. "Sheriff," he said shakily.  
At that moment, a deputy stuck his head through the door. "Hey, Sheriff," he said as he thrust a piece of paper into John's waiting hands, "Got the sketch done."  
"Thanks," John said absentmindedly as he studied the face on the paper. He moved around his desk to pick up his phone.   
"Sheriff," Scott said again, more urgently this time.   
"One second," he said to Scott, eyes still glued on the picture. "Johnson," he said into the phone, "Stilinski here. Listen, do you remember the Argent case from a couple years ago? With missing girl? We thought her boyfriend killed her, but we couldn't prove it? Yeah, I'm going to need everything you can dig up on that boy."  
"Sheriff," Scott hissed, bending across the desk so he was right in John's face.   
"Just a minute, Johnson," the Sheriff said to the man on the other end. He locked eyes with Scott.  
"Stiles left me a note that night. He went out with that guy."  
"Johnson," John said to the receiver, "Put a rush on that info." There was a pause, and Scott could hear Johnson ask why. "Because," John said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Derek Hale was with my son. And he hasn't been seen since."

 

Stiles was waking up slowly, fighting it. He felt warm and safe. Something was making the mattress dip behind him, and he squirmed, trying to get comfortable with the new presence. He tugged the comforter higher on his shoulders before it occurred to him.  
Someone had just crawled into bed with him.   
He jerked, eyes open and instantly alert. He tried to turn his head, to confirm what he already knew, but hands wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer to the warmth. He was paralyzed, fear overriding all other emotions. A whimper escaped his lips.  
"Shh," Derek cooed from behind him, his breath hot on Stiles' neck, "You're just fine. I'm not going to hurt you if you behave. You'll behave, right? I hate having to drug you. I like it better when you're awake." He chuckled softly and nuzzled Stiles' hairline.  
Stiles gulped. "Y-yes, I'll behave," he stuttered out. It wasn't a lie;he was going to do whatever Derek wanted from now on, no more mind games, no more escape plans. He was going to appease Derek and hope against hope that someone would rescue him.  
Derek smiled. "Good boy," he praised. "Go back to sleep," he whispered.   
Stiles did as he was told, strangely comforted by Derek's presence. His last thought before he slipped completely into unconsciousness was that he could get used to this.

 

They fell into a pattern. Derek would cook, Stiles would clean, and every night they'd watch a movie together and retire to Derek's room for the night. They always shared a bed and Derek insisted that he be in constant contact with Stiles while they slept. He was allowed free reign of the house, as long as he stayed inside. Derek didn't have any neighbors, and civilization was a twenty mile hike through the woods.   
"I'd find you before anyone else would," Derek had told him, warning sharp in his eyes.   
Stiles had nodded. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised. And he wasn't.   
He found he didn't really mind Derek's company, and sometimes he could admit, just to himself, that he actually enjoyed spending time with the handsome man.   
He tried to find the resolve, the hatred and anger, he had felt when Derek had first kidnapped him, but it was gone. It was replaced by... Well, Stiles had no idea what had replaced it. Acceptance, maybe. Acceptance that this was his life now.  
Because, after a month of being cooped up in the middle of nowhere, Stiles was convinced no one was looking for him.

 

"Why is it so hard to find out where the hell this kid went?!" the Sheriff yelled his frustrations at his staff, "He was a suspect in a murder investigation, for Christ's sake!"  
"Sheriff," one of his deputies said gently, "We have reason to believe he never left his hometown."   
"What was it again?" another deputy asked.  
"Beacon Hills," John sighed, scrubbing his scruff with the back of his hand, "it's two towns over." He moved down the hall to his office, emerging moments later with his gun attached to his hip.   
"What do you think you're doing?" Johnson, who had come in with the Derek Hale information an hour after John's call, asked him quietly.  
John slid into his coat. "I'm going to talk to this guy."  
"John," Johnson said firmly, "You don't have a warrant or backup. You can't just go around, half-cocked. It's not the way-"  
"Look," the Sheriff said, getting close to his friend's face and not matching his hushed tone at all, "This psychopath has my kid. I don't give two shits about doing this by the books." He pivoted on his heel and stormed out of the building. 

 

They were sitting on the couch in Derek's living room, watching their nightly movie- it was The Avengers again because Derek was a pushover and always let Stiles pick- with Stiles stretched out, feet propped on Derek's lap. Derek was fidgeting with the hem of Stiles' sweats. He kept looking at Stiles out of the corner of his eyes and immediately looking away when Stiles caught him. It was adorable- and really irritating.  
"You can go home," Derek said softly, staring intently at the floor, "if you want. I would drop you off."  
Stiles looked down at Derek, eyes half-lidded. "What about you?"  
Derek shrugged. "Turn myself in, I guess."  
"Why?"  
Derek looked at him then, "I want you to stay because you want to, not because I'm forcing you."  
Stiles broke off the intense gaze first, eyes sliding back to the tv. He tried desperately to remember all the things he had wanted to get back to a month ago. Or more than a month ago. How long had he been here? Was it almost two months already? He shook those thoughts out of his mind; it wasn't like it matter. No one was coming for him, that was painfully clear. He wondered if anyone had noticed his absence. They were better off without him anyway, and he was better off with Derek, who actually lo- appreciated him.   
He could feel Derek still staring at him expectantly. "I'm not going anywhere," he mumbled after a long pause. He didn't even need to look at Derek to know he was beaming.   
And that night, when Derek whispered that he loved Stiles into the blackness, Stiles wasn't surprised that he didn't even hesitate to reciprocate. It didn't surprise, either, him that he meant it completely. 

 

There was an obnoxious pounding coming from somewhere far away. But not far enough that Stiles could sleep through it.   
"Dereeeek," he whined, slinging his hand back so he could hit his bedmate in the chest. But all he hit were the sheets. He rolled over, cracked his eyes open. "Derek?" he called. He layed back and curled into himself, too tired to be worried.   
"Stiles."  
He opened his eyes to find Derek hovering over him. "Jesus," he yelped, shooting off the bed and just barely missing Derek's head.   
Derek grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of bed. "You have to go downstairs, to the basement. Hide."  
They were in the hall before the words registered in Stiles' head. "Wait, wha? Why? Who's at the door?"  
"Keep your voice down," Derek hissed.  
"Who is it?" he whispered harshly, toe to toe with Derek.  
"I don't know," Derek said as he shoved Stiles roughly towards the stairs, "Just go. And keep quiet."  
Stiles was in the basement, hunched down into a ball in a corner, when he realized he could hear his dad talking to Derek. He froze, held his breath as panic swelled in his chest. He debated what he should do, the argument in his mind so loud he was half-expecting to be found just from that alone.   
He dad had found him. It had taken two months, but he'd found him. All Stiles had to do was shout, and he'd be as good as home. He could go back to his life, Derek would go to jail and-  
Derek would go to jail. For life. The Sheriff would make sure of it. The thought sent Stiles falling into an abyss of guilt.   
Not for the first time, Stiles searched himself for the same disdain he had felt for his kidnapper two months ago. It was gone.   
Stiles heard his dad again, saying something that sounded apologetic and somewhat hesitant and definitely disappointed.   
One yelp, Stiles told himself, just any amount of noise and this will all be over.  
He stayed quiet. 

 

"He's there," the Sheriff said into his phone as he pulled back into the parking lot of his hotel, "Stiles is too, he's just got him tucked away somewhere. Wouldn't let me past the front door."  
"How do you know?" Scott asked from his end of the conversation.  
"Been doing this a long time," John said simply.   
"I'm coming up tomorrow."  
"No, Scott, there's nothing you can do here."  
"Neither can you. And you're still there. I'm coming," Scott insisted. There was a pause as John tried to come up with an appropriate threat. "I love him too, you know," Scott said softly.  
"I know, Scott, I know."   
"Are you keeping eyes on the house?"  
"I'm calling my deputies. They'll be here in an hour." 

 

The door to the basement opened and Stiles had to cover his eyes against the light. "Stiles?"   
"Over here," he offered and threw his arms out blindly. Derek gripped him hard, tugged him up and into a tight hug. He ran his hand over the back of Stiles' neck. Stiles hugged back, just as firm. "What'd my dad want?"  
Derek jerked back to study his face. "That was your dad?" Stiles shrugged and nodded. "Why didn't you let him find you?"  
"I don't want you to get into trouble."  
Derek pulled him in again, more gentle this time. "We have to leave," he mumbled into Stiles' hair a minute later. "Right now." He moved away then, but he kept a hold on Stiles' hand. He looked into Stiles' eyes. "Will you go with me?"  
Stiles nodded. "Anywhere."

 

"Sheriff," the walky-talky squaked from its holder on the dashboard of his cruiser.  
John pulled it off its holster. "Yeah."  
"Looks like movement inside the house. Be ready to move."  
"Copy that."  
"Think he knows we're here?" Scott asked from the passenger's seat.  
"Not a chance," John said confidently.

 

Derek threw clothes and food into a bag and led Stiles to a door he'd never noticed before. He jerked it open, revealing a garage. And a really hot car.   
Stiles slid his hands over the hood. "Nice," he commented as Derek tossed the duffell into the backseat.   
"Hands off," Derek commanded, but he was grinning. "Paid a lot of money for this car."  
Stiles leaned against it. "How do we look? Your two most prized possessions," he joked.  
"Possession," Derek tested the word slowly. He looked at Stiles with eyes so full of hope that Stiles could have sworn his heart literally cracked. "Does that mean I get to keep you?"   
And Stiles' heart shattered. He stepped forward and cupped Derek's cheek. The taller man titled his head into the touch, eyes closed. "Always," Stiles whispered. He pulled Derek's face forward. Derek snapped his eyes open, wild. Stiles tried to move back, but Derek grabbed his arm. "Do you hear that?" he whispered harshly.  
Stiles listened. Yeah, he could hear people talking. And then a pounding of feet. "Derek!" someone yelled. His dad. "Come out now. You and Stiles. Come out, no funny business and we won't start shooting up the place."  
Stiles felt his eyes go wide, glued onto Derek's. "Time to go."

 

"Just do it!" Stiles shouted. Derek's hands spazzed against the steering wheel before he held it steadily, his knuckles white.   
"Hold on," he instructed.   
They busted through the garage door, swerving into Derek's lawn as he threw it into drive and they took off down the gravel drive.   
Stiles had seen the door that connected the kitchen to the garage fly open just before they'd backed up, though. And his dad had seen him. 

 

"I could say- I could say I went with you willingly," Stiles said frantically as they sped down the highway, police cars fast behind them.   
"It won't work," Derek replied gruffly.  
"It could!" Stiles insisted, "I'm a good liar. We'll just go to the station and-"  
"No, Stiles!" Derek yelled, "It won't work! I have a rapsheet, okay. They won't listen!"  
Stiles blanched. "What did you do?"  
Derek glanced at the officers in his rearview mirror. "My ex girlfriend, she..." He looked at Stiles briefly. "She would hurt me-"  
"Hurt you how?" Derek didn't answer. "Hurt you how, Derek?"   
"She.. she raped me, alright. Everyday. With whatever instruments she could find. She pimped me out. She thought it was funny. So I.. I killed her, and your dad knew it. But he couldn't prove it. They never even found her body."  
"Did you take me so you could kill me?"  
Derek looked at him incredulously. "What? No, I..." he trailed off. "I just wanted someone to love me," he murmured.   
Stiles reached across the gap between them to thread his fingers through Derek's hair. "Someone does."  
Derek met his eyes again, a smile soft on his face.   
He never even saw the car coming towards them. 

 

"Dad! Don't!"   
Stiles was struggling in the arms of a deputy, kicking and scratching- fighting desperately to get to where the Sheriff had a gun pointed at Derek's head.   
"It's okay, Stiles," Derek said calmly, never taking his eyes off John.  
"Don't you talk to him, you piece of shit," the Sheriff spat out.  
Derek ignored him. "Stiles," he said as he slid his eyes over to the thrashing man, "It's the only way. You can live your life again."  
"I don't want it!" Stiles gasped out, "Without you, I don't want it." He felt the tears streaming down his face, and he knew what was coming.   
"You gave me two months of happiness, Stiles. That's more than I deserve."  
Stiles shook his head viciously. "Please, Dad, please. Don't. I wanted to go with him. I love him, Dad, please."  
"You don't know what you're saying, son," John said to him, "He's a killer."  
"You don't know the whole story!" Stiles yelled, "Just give him a chance, please!"  
"I love you, Stiles," Derek said. He lunged at John. A shot went off.  
"Derek!" Stiles screeched. The arms that had held him up released him and he sank to the ground.   
John picked his son up, cradled him, pet his head. "Stiles."  
"Derek," Stiles whimpered. 

 

"What'd he do to you?" John asked.  
Stiles fixed him with a glare, arms crossed over his chest. He had been home a week and had refused to speak to anyone. The doctors called him a 'selective mute.' All he knew was, he wasn't mute at night, when the sobs wracked his body.   
"I'm not the enemy here, Stiles," John reminded him softly, "He kidnapped you. He could have killed you." Stiles looked away, out the window. The Sheriff sighed. "Are you ever going to talk again?"  
'Not if I can help it,' Stiles thought.

 

It was six months before the hallucinations started. He still wasn't communicating- never intended to- so he had no way of telling anyone that he was seeing things. He found he didn't particularly want them to stop.   
Every night, he watched Derek walk around the room, grin on his face, pancakes piled high on a plate in his hand. He'd look at Stiles, "I wasn't sure what you'd like..."  
After a year of this, Stiles had a hard time convincing himself it wasn't real. Just as he'd remember, Derek would show up again: flipping through a book, wrapping an arm around his waist, smiling down at him.   
After five years, Stiles accepted he was crazy and broken. Derek was constant now, and Stiles had full-on conversations with him. Laughing, joking, flirting- like they had those first days. Stiles no longer wanted to believe he was imagining it.   
So, no one was surprised when, after twenty years, someone found Stiles dead in his dirty, one bedroom apartment. He left a note, his only communication with the outside world in over two decades, with one sentence on it: "I just wanted someone to love me."

**Author's Note:**

> *hopscotches away to write the fluffiest of fluff*


End file.
